


working it out

by orphan_account



Series: Kinktober 2019 [3]
Category: Devil May Cry
Genre: Anal Sex, Blood and Gore, Incest, Just a Mention, Kinktober, Kinktober 2019, M/M, Power Bottom, Service Top, Sibling Incest, ngl this was entirely an excuse to have Vergil be the one going wild for once
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-04
Updated: 2019-10-04
Packaged: 2020-11-23 09:46:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,494
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20890088
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: It’s like locking a couple of feral dogs in the same cage.“Work it out,” Nero had said, finally tired of playing mediator to their bickering and brawling. Didn’t bother taking their swords, just the guns and explosives. Locked the door, had Nico fuck with the lock, and left them to their own devices. “Try not to bring down the building.”





	working it out

**Author's Note:**

> Kinktober 3: Power Play/Power Bottom.  
These are getting a little away from me, so we're gonna acknowledge right now that I'm probably not going to complete this challenge until the middle of November at least.  
Also. Did yall know there’s a Bad Dragon Vergil? I didn’t. No, Vergil’s dick here is not modeled off that.  
If you must know: Clayton. Split Midnight Aquatic.

It’s like locking a couple of feral dogs in the same cage.

_ “Work it out _ ,” Nero had said, finally tired of playing mediator to their bickering and brawling. Didn’t bother taking their swords, just the guns and explosives. Locked the door, had Nico fuck with the lock, and left them to their own devices. “ _ Try not to bring down the building. _”

Dante, to his credit, does actually _ try _ to be polite. For a little bit. Because he doesn’t actually want Vergil to leave-- he just got his brother back, damnit, he’s not losing Vergil again. He’s a demon, though. As is Vergil. Powerful ones, the both of them. And powerful demons generally have nice, clearly-defined, _ large _ territories. 

It’s like being locked in an electrified room. Dante’s dangersense goes off every time Vergil moves, winding him up so tight he feels like he’s vibrating out of his skin. It’s somehow _ worse _ when they both settle and try to wait out Nero’s annoyance, like there’s a predator lying in wait. Devil Trigger pushes at the surface, desperate to break through, like Vergil has his teeth to Dante’s throat and isn’t laying benignly on the couch and picking all the bits of pineapple off his pizza like a dweeb.

It’s resonance. Positive feedback. Two souls, humming on the same wavelength, amplifying each other until the volume rises to unbearable heights. 

It’s dissonance. Two halves of a hairline fracture that have slipped, ever slightly, in opposite directions. They’ve been apart for so long, they don’t know each other anymore. 

Vergil sets the paper plate he was using for his pineapple bits on the table, and Dante reaches for it without thinking. 

And, in Dante’s defense, it’s kind of a habit at this point. Kyrie doesn’t like pineapple on her pizza but she doesn’t like it when they change their usual order just for her, Nero doesn’t like to eat pineapple plain and doesn’t want to “ruin the delicate pineapple-cheese balance”, and Dante’s just. Not real big on wasting food. He’s got a metabolism higher than the fuckin’ stars, alright? And the memory of hungry days-weeks-_ months _ still sits heavy in his stomach every time he sees someone throwing out food. 

He probably should have thought twice about taking food from another apex predator, though. 

Vergil’s hand snaps out, catching Dante’s wrist, tight enough that Dante can feel his bones grinding in the grip. Dante is still relearning what pain feels like, but the sensation is still. Unpleasant. Worse is the wave of demonic presence that rises to meet Dante’s own, as though both feral little bastards know exactly how close the twins are to losing hold of the leashes. 

With effort, Dante backs down first. Wrestles himself back down to something nearly human, shoving his demon side so far down he can’t hear it howling anymore. And the silence that leaves his ears ringing is _ blessed _ , the way it swallows down the discomfort beneath his skin something _ holy _ . Suddenly, he can look at his brother and not see a rival, an enemy in his territory. He can see _ Vergil _, murky-ocean eyes, that little divot between his eyebrows when he’s thinking about something too hard, the silver-white spatters of scars near Vergil’s ear where they got too close to a patch of hellfire. 

Nature abhors a vacuum. Vergil has to sense Dante’s moment of weakness, and he jumps on it, Devil Trigger flaring in blinding electric blue, bowling them both over the back of Dante’s chair. Claws rend and tear at cloth, dangerously close to skin, and Dante knows better than to let his Devil Trigger out when Vergil’s already this close, pinning him to the floor-- Vergil could not move an inch, and Dante would spear himself. Instead Dante draws the most careful breath he’s ever taken in his _ life _ and pointedly doesn’t wince at the paper-cut scratches where he can’t quite keep himself still, dragging his own skin across the tips of those razor-sharp claws. 

And it’s weird, being the one in control for once. Vergil has always prided himself on self-restraint for as long as Dante could remember. But Dante also knows that Vergil is struggling to reconcile _ himself _ right now, the part of him that once was Urizen and the part of him that once was V and the part of him that was neither and both in the same. That Vergil has been trying to build this new fortress of self on a foundation made of silken sand. 

The demon in Dante roars and demands that Dante use that. Drive out the competition before it can dig in roots. And though it wails and rages, Dante…

Tips his head back. Bares his throat to the demonic form of his own damn brother bearing down on top of him. Which is. A bad idea, really, but Dante is pretty much always filled to the brim with bad ideas, and he’ll be the first to admit that, after Urizen and Dante’s near-miraculous full recovery, Dante’s been struggling to find his sense of self-preservation. 

Devil Triggers are. Pretty big. Dante was never really conscious of their size, considering he’s never actually been on this side of them while still wearing human skin. But Vergil has to curl in a way that’s surely uncomfortable to hold Dante how he wants, one hand pinning Dante’s wrist above Dante’s head, his other hand pressing Dante’s hip into the floor, nails scraping the carpet-covered concrete, thumb threatening the soft of Dante’s belly. The arc of his spine flares his wings menacingly, somehow not taking out the light or clipping the ceiling fan.

Vergil fits his mouth carefully around Dante’s throat, needle-sharp teeth scraping at the sensitive skin. Forces Dante to lay very, very still, free hand very, very slowly sliding up Vergil’s arm. He keeps his touch firm. Grounding. Better that, than risk Vergil getting startled and biting down. Vergil’s skin is cold, near icy, and Dante has to do his best to swallow down a shiver. 

He can only safely reach Vergil’s shoulder. Even with hybrid strength, Dante isn’t much against the bulk of a Devil Trigger-- Dante shoves ineffectually, and Vergil lets out a surly growl, knocking over the coffee table as his tail lashes harshly. 

Dante swallows carefully. “C’mon, Vergil,” he says, trying to ignore the way Vergil’s teeth threaten to cut with every little motion. “Playtime’s over.”

A growl is Vergil’s only response, and Dante starts to feel something like panic, because he knows damn well that _ fear _ isn’t the only thing he probably smells like. 

“Vergil…” Dante warns, because he was okay with this when it was on his terms, but if he can’t Devil Trigger and Vergil won’t let him up, he will reach for his sword, and things will get bloody. Dante more than Vergil, at least at first, but at this point Dante will take the injuries to get out from under his brother’s freezing bulk.

Instead of letting go, though, Vergil. _ Whines _ . A high, keening sound that twists up in Dante’s head, makes him feel. Dizzy. _ High _ on the way Vergil shifts from threatening teeth to placating nuzzles like desperate little pleads for affection. Approval. Dante squeezes his eyes closed and tries to think of distinctly not-sexy things. Wet concrete. Those nasty pus sacs that grew on Qliphoth’s roots. That one Greed demon they saw in hell whose hord was just a writhing pile of human organs. 

Vergil is hard and dripping against Dante’s hip, the liquid so cold it’s hot again, searing Dante’s skin where it drips on him. Which shouldn’t be nearly as arousing as it is. But Dante is aroused, _ way _ too content to be sprawled out under his own fucking brother, at Vergil’s mercy and, at the same time, _ entirely _ in control of the situation. It’s an addictive combination. 

“_ Hey _ .” Dante drops his voice into a low coo and tries not to feel too satisfied at the way Vergil _ trembles _ under his hand. Turns his head to press kisses everywhere he can reach-- the curve of Vergil’s horns, the rough scales that cede to the smooth leather of an ear. “You gonna take care of me, Big Boy?” 

That’s not even a question, really. Vergil is a possessive son of a bitch. He treats his possessions well, and Dante has never wanted to be anything other than Vergil’s. 

Dante’s not a small guy. It’s a novel experience, to be scooped up like he weighs nothing in Vergil’s arms. They’re up the stairs before Dante can even really analyze that. He’s not even surprised when he’s dropped on his own messy, unmade bed. It’s the closest thing Dante has to a nest, where his scent has sunk so deep that even the most thorough washing probably wouldn’t flush it all out. 

It’s the center of Dante’s territory, where Vergil should be most vulnerable. And yet, here Dante is, sprawled out as Vergil makes quick work of his jeans and just. Goes to town between Dante’s thighs. It’s good, despite and maybe because of the temperature difference, _ so good _ , messy and wet and _ eager _ in a way that can’t be anything but practiced, and Dante burns with envy for anyone else who may have had this. Wonders how many other hands have hooked their fingers behind Vergil’s horns, threw their legs over his shoulders and used their ankles to urge Vergil deeper, deeper, _ deeper _. 

Vergil draws back just far enough to place an affectionate bite on the inside of Dante’s thigh, and Dante gasps. 

“Claws, claws, _ claws _,” Dante warns, and Vergil whines as Dante’s voice roughens into a growl. Licks and laves at the bloody red mark he’s left in apology, and holds Dante for only a moment before letting him scramble for the nightstand drawer. 

There is such a thing as too much lube, and Dante is already practically soaked from Vergil’s attention, but right now he would really rather be safe than sorry. Two fingers, then three. Four, and Dante is going way to fast, burning with the stretch, but he can’t help but buck down on his own fingers anyway, desperate, pleasure burning like an inferno in Dante’s stomach. 

“Slow down,” Vergil rumbles, voice distorted in a spine-shivering way that can’t be mistaken for anything other than demonic. Curls Dante’s body close to his own, _ looming _, nuzzling carefully into Dante’s cheek. “Take your time. We have as long as we need.”

“Don’t. Don’t think I can wait,” Dante admits, panting. Carefully presses a kiss at Vergil’s longest fangs. It. Doesn’t really work. But it’s the sentiment that counts. 

Vergil is. _ Big _ . Long, thick, ridged. Even just the flared head feels like an effort, and Dante throws his head back and moans when he finally gets it inside. Moans again when Vergil presses his teeth there, threatening to bite. Dante _ wants that _ , wants him to bite, wants this bloody and rough and _ unholy _. He can only take so much at one time, though, can’t really focus on too many things at once, and since Vergil seems content to let Dante set the pace here, that’s where Dante’s attention is going to be. 

It takes some work. Dante probably would have been worried if it didn’t. Works himself carefully down, ridge by agonizing ridge, with exhausting patience-- by the time he manages to slip over the fattest part, he’s panting, stuffed full and _ trembling _ . Vergil presses his hand just below Dante’s navel, like he can feel himself, and that _ definitely _ shouldn’t be as arousing as it is. 

Dante feels. _ Indulged _ . Brattish, as he sits up with a prissy little shake, laughing at Vergil’s guttural laugh as he’s laid back against the sheets. Feels _ worshipped _, like some kind of fucking god, right up until Vergil starts to move, and Dante doesn’t feel anything but pleasure sparking up his spine. 

They take it slow. Or, Vergil takes it slow, overly conscious of the limitations of the human form. And Dante is half tempted to let his own Devil Trigger out, to let Vergil off his leash just a bit. But there’s also something heady about being treated as _ delicate _, as something that needs to be handled with care, and Dante is almost ready to lose himself in that sensation.

Almost.

Because there’s still Vergil, desperate in his restraint. And it’s not a good angle, but Dante strains up to bite at Vergil’s collarbone as hard as his human teeth will allow without breaking against the scales. He’s not even sure if Vergil can even feel it, but he does groan, low and broken, hips stuttering as he curls in and lets Dante take what he wants. 

“So good for me,” Dante breathes into the hollow of his brother’s throat. Vergil’s wings curl around them, like a barrier, a cocoon for their shared metamorphosis. “You’ve been so good for me, Vergil. ‘M so proud of you.”

Vergil groans, panting, groping at Dante’s skin, desperate and still so careful with his claws. 

“You wanna keep being good for me, Vergil?” Dante licks at Vergil’s Adam’s Apple and tries not to feel too joyous at the expanse that’s being offered to him. “C’mon. Give it to me, Love.”

Dante lets his Devil Trigger, just enough to give him the teeth to draw blood properly, and it’s like drinking liquid lightning, raw power scorching its way down his throat as he comes, thunder and white light behind Dante’s eyes. And it’s hard not to lose himself in it, but Dante forces his eyes open, even just a sliver, because Vergil is coming, and there’s no way Dante’s going to miss that.

He’s. Gorgeous. Tail lashing, mouth open in a nearly-pathetic keen, eyes screwed shut, curved in on himself to press their foreheads together as he bucks into Dante like he’s trying to get his cum as deep as it will go. Which is. A kink that Dante sets aside to examine later. For now, he slides his hands up, wrapping Vergil in a loose hug as they ride out their pleasure. There’s something like a pang of disappointment when he slides over the place he’d bitten and finds the wound already healed. 

They come down slow, breathing in each other’s air, until Vergil is almost human again, wings still wrapped around them like the light from the street below is offensive. Fangs, still, when Dante’s featherlight kisses finally reach the corners of Vergil’s mouth. Cuts his lip on them, because he can, and because Vergil groans low and rough and _ human _ as he chases after the taste.

It’s nice. It’s good. There’s no urge to tear Vergil’s throat out anymore, no tingling discomfort when Vergil’s hands settle on the wings of Dante’s hips. Resonance, finally. Harmony. Dante smiles into the kiss, languid in the dying afterglow. 

“As long as we need,” Dante murmurs, urging Vergil down to rest on top of him, weight pleasant and welcome.

As long as they’ll need.

They’ll make it work.


End file.
